A worthless prey scarce bends your pliant rod,
Him, piteous of his youth and the short space
He has enjoy'd the vital light of heaven;

Soft disengage, and back into the stream
The speckled infant throw. But should you

lure

420 From his dark haunt, beneath the tangled

roots

Of pendant trees, the monarch of the brook, Behoves you then to ply your finest art. Long time he, following cautious, scans the fly;

425

And oft attempts to seize it, but as oft
The dimpled water speaks his jealous fear.
At last, while haply o'er the shaded sun
Paffes a cloud, he desperate takes the death,
With sullen plunge. At once he darts along,
Deep-struck, and runs out all the lengthen'd
line;

430 Then seeks the farthest ooze, the sheltering weed,

The cavern'd bank, his old secure abode; And flies aloft, and flounces round the pool, Indignant of the guile. With yielding hand, That feels him still, . yet to his furious

course

435 Gives way, you, now retiring, following now Across the stream, exhaust his idle rage: 'Till floating broad upon his breathless side,

And to his fate abandon'd, to the shore 439 You gaily drag your unresisting prize.

THUS pass the temperate hours: but when the sun

Shakes from his noon-day throne the scattering clouds

Even shooting listless langour thro' the deeps; Then seek the bank where flowering elders

croud,

Where shatter'd wild the lily of the vale 445 Its balmy essence breathes, where cowslips hang

The dewy head, where purp'e violets lurk,
With all the lowly children of the shade:
Or lie reclin'd beneath yon spreading ash,
Hung o'er the steep; whence, borne on liquid

wing,

450

The sounding culver shoots; or where the

hawk,

High, in the beetling cliff, his airy builds.
There let the classic page thy fancy lead
Thro' rural scenes; such as the Mantuan swain
Paints in the matchless harmony of song. 455
Or catch thyself the landskip, gliding swift
Athwart imagination's vivid eye:

Or by the vocal woods and waters lull'd,
And lost in lonely musing, in a dream,
Confus'd, of careless solitude, where mix 460
Ten thousand wandering images of things,

Soothe every gust of passion into peace;
All, but the swellings of the soften'd heart,
That waken, not disturb the tranquil mind.

Like Nature? Can imagination boast,
Amid its gay creation, hues like hers?
Or can it mix them with that matchless skill,
And lose them in each other, as appears 470
In every bud that blows? If fancy then

郾

Unequal fails beneath the pleasing task,

Ah, what shall language do? Ah, where find words

Ting'd with so many colours; and whose power,

To life approaching, may perfume my lays 475
With that fine oil, those aromatic gales.
That inexhaustive flow continual round?

YET tho' successless, will the toil delight...

Come then, ye virgins and ye youths, whose

hearts

Have felt the raptures of refining love;

And thou, AMANDA,

480

come, pride of my song!

Form'd by the grates, loveliness itself!
Come with those downcast eyes, sedate and

Shines lively fancy and the feeling heart:
Oh come! and while the rosy-footed May
Steals blushing on, together let us tread
The morning-dews, and gather in their prime
Fresh-blooming flowers, to grace thy braided

hair,

490 And thy lov'd bosom that improves their sweets.

SEE, where the winding vale its lavish

stores,

Irriguous, spreads. See, how the lily drinks
The latent rill, scarce oozing thro the grass,
Of growth luxuriant; or the humid bank, 495
In fair profusion, decks. Long let us walk,
Where the breeze blows from yon extended
field

Of blossom'd beans. Arabia cannot boast
A fuller gale of joy than, liberal, thence
Breathes thro the sense, and takes the ravish'd

soul.

Nor is the mead unworthy of thy foot,

500

Full of fresh verdure, and unnumber'd flowers,

The negligence of Nature, wide, and wild; Where, undisguis'd by mimic Art, she spreads Unbounded beauty to the roving eye.

Here their delicious task the fervent bees,

505

In swarming millions, tend: around, athwart,
Thro' the soft air, the busy nations fly,
Cling to the bud, and, with inserted tube,
Suck its pure essence, its ethereal soul. 510
And oft, with bolder wing, they soaring dare
The purple heath, or where the wild thyme

grows,

And yellow load them with the luscious spoil.

Ar length the finish'd garden (to the

view

1

515

Its vistas opens, and its alleys green. Snatch'd thro the verdant maze, the hurried

eye

Distracted wanders; now the bowery walk Of covert close, where scarce a speck of day Falls on the lengthen'd gloom, protracted

sweeps;

Now meets the bending sky; the river

now

520

Dimpling along, the breezy-ruffled lake,
The forest darkening round, the glittering

spire,

Th' ethereal mountain, and the distant main. But why so far excursive? when at hand,